Glory Road
by Mikel Midnight
Summary: Chevalier Bretagne's lover had borne the mantle of the Phenix, and perished in battle against the Shi’ar. Now, a girl named Rachel Summers has traveled from an impossible future to claim that she is still alive.


When he closed his eyes, he could still see her, and feel the touch of her hand on his cheek.

He wondered when the dream had all gone wrong. Their early years together, troubled as they were, gleamed like shining silver in his mind in comparison to those horrible final months, culminating with their being kidnapped by the alien Shi'ar and their final battle on the moon, his allies by his side. And the terrible choice she made, to save them all.

"Patricia," he whispered to himself. "What am I to do without you?" Her absence from his mind, sans the telepathic link they'd shared for so many years, was as painful as her physical absence. My head is full of corpses, he thought to himself. And I am left with nothing to show for it.

His reverie was interrupted by a knock at his cabin door. The Crimson Cavalier stuck his head in. "Chevalier?"

Chevalier Bretagne looked up. "Yes, Jacques?" Jacques Duquesne had been one of the founding members of the Escrimeurs' Entente.

"We have a visitor."

In response to his old ally's tone of voice he rose to his feet and ventured out onto the deck of their sailing vessel, the Blackbird. He did a double-take at the sight he witnessed.

A woman, at least the form of one, flickering in and out of visibility. Her skin swam with black and red energy like molten lava. Aside her, swords drawn and pointed at the apparition, were his teammates Paul Richarde, known as Le Sabre, and the fabled Fourth Musketeer, who had only recently joined their company. "What is it?"

"We know not," said the Fourth Musketeer, "but 'tis most passing strange, and brings with it a premonition of naught but future darkness."

As he stood before it, the apparition seemed to focus on him. The flickerings slowed, and she tried to speak, her voice like the rumble of a volcano. "Christopher ... Christopher Summers?"

Chevalier Bretagne removed his cap. "It is I."

The energy patterns across her body stabilised, and she seemed to enter fully into reality. She was naught but a teenage girl, bright red hair cropped close, wearing the tattered garments of a prisoner, her face gaunt with hunger and terrible memories. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing hysterically. "Father!"

Escrimeurs' Entente in, "Glory Road"

"That's impossible."

Duquesne put a hand on his friend's shoulder as he peered out the window portal. "She did say she was from the future, maybe ... "

"If Patricia had a child from me, you don't think I would know about it?" Summers snapped at him. "I wish Professor Viridian were here, he could delve to the bottom of this in no time."

The Musketeer entered the meeting room. "She sleeps," he said. Having caught Summers' final words, he ventured, "We must carry on with our own best judgment, it seems."

"I'm lost here," Summers mused as he sat down at the meeting table. "Do either of you give credence to her story?"

His teammates looked at one another. The Musketeer sat down aside him. "Chevalier, I came to walk the Earth centuries after my physical death, in time to assist my people in a war which spanned the world. In the war's final days, I was caught frozen in a trap, only to walk again decades later, and stand by thy side. I have seen much that amazed me, that I would have thought a madman's dreams in my youth."

"Christopher," Duquesne added, "as a member of the Chevalier Bretagne Corps you have traversed time and dimensions. Could she be ... the child of yourself in another possible world?"

Chevalier Bretagne's eyes widened. "That had never occurred to me. We've all seen divergent futures, but Merlyn tends to proscribe us from encountering our divergent counterparts. Maybe ... good lord." He sighed. "A world in which Patricia Hope never died? A world in which we married and lived out our lives, gave birth to this daughter, Rachel Summers? It sounds too much like a black comedy. Why am I cursed to be here, rather than there?"

"You're forgetting something," Duquesne added. "She also said the word, 'Sentinelles.' Several times, in fact. Her future may not be so ideal as you think. Something brought her back, that is certain."

The Musketeer nodded, "She hath the look of a prisoner about her. Her lot hath not been a joyous one."

Chevalier Bretagne templed his fingers and rested his chin on their tips in thought. "I will speak to her after she awakens, and we will see."

Their discussion was interrupted by a loud crash, the sound of a whirlwind, and profuse swearing. The three ran outside, to see Rachel Summers stumbling across the deck, the ship's gear swirling around her as if she were haunted by a poltergeist, and Paul Richarde, battleaxe and shield in hand, trying to protect himself.

"She has inherited her mother's power, that's for sure." Chevalier Bretagne raced over to her, standing at the centre of the storm. "She's asleep."

"Then wake her up," shouted Richarde, "before she destroys the ship! I tire of dodging these missiles."

Chevalier Bretagne took her shoulders in his hands. "Rachel. Rachel!" He shook her gently, and slowly her eyes opened, and the objects around her dropped back to the deck.

"Oh." She looked around her in dismay. "Sorry ... I ... I guess I must have been having a nightmare."

He put an arm around her shoulders. "Come back into the warmth."

As she sat at the central table of the meeting room, he brought her a cup of coffee. She drank it eagerly, holding the cup like a squirrel with a nut. "Thank you. Father ... I've seen Uncle Jacques and Uncle Paul, but where's Mother? And ... that man in blue, I don't know him at all."

He thought for a moment, measuring his words, and chose to be direct. "Patricia Hope is dead."

Her mouth fell open, and she almost dropped the cup onto the table. She winced at the spilled coffee on her hand, shaking it out to cool it. "But that's impossible. You ... you died at her side."

"I almost did," he said. "She and I had been kidnapped by the Shi'ar, in an effort to keep secret their existence from Earth. Eventually Jacques, Paul, Patricia, and I managed to arrange a trial by combat with members of their Imperial Guard. During the battle, the power of the Phenix reawakened in her, but she chose to slay herself rather than allow us all to be slain."

"No, that's not what happened!" She shook her head wildly. "The Shi'ar placed psychic blocks on Mother, she was left powerless ... "

He sighed. "Rachel, you're physically almost my age. You're from the future, aren't you?"

She bit her lip, and nodded.

"I am not an experienced time traveler myself, although I have traversed many alternate worlds in my time with the Corps. Rachel, I think you have traveled to a past that is not your own, one in which your mother died before you were born."

She shook her head again. "But she's not dead! I couldn't have come here if she were! I'm a telepath, I know!"

He blinked. "What?"

Rachel Summers closed her eyes. She was silent for a moment, and then said in a low murmur, "I can hear her, she's singing to me. She misses you, Father."

Christopher Summers could not breathe for a long moment. "I must speak to the others."

Later, the team assembled on deck. "So it's decided, then?"

Duquesne gave a flourished bow, "You are Chevalier Bretagne ... the Crimson Cavalier stands by your side, as always. Le Sabre and the Fourth Musketeer have agreed as well." The others nodded.

"Sibyl Girl here will act as our guide," Christopher Summers said, ignoring his teammates' queried looks at the use of Patricia Hope's original alias. "She is evidently in touch with Patricia's essence, residing as it does in something she calls the Egg of the Phenix."

Rachel Summers gave a small, hard smile, and set herself at the forward part of the ship, eyes closed and arms gesturing to the horizon.

As they set en route, Richarde pulled the Musketeer aside. "Tell me, do you believe the girl's story?"

The Musketeer lay a finger across his lips in a pensive gesture. "There are legends, even in my own time, of sirens ... beautiful women who lure men to their deaths at sea. I do, indeed, fear she will serve that purpose for us ... whether that be her intent, I know not."

Richarde glanced over at her. "Christopher is obsessed."

The Musketeer smiled gently. "He is still in love with Patricia Hope. Hast thou never felt eros' sting? It leads men to great things ... and great tragedies. We shall see."

Days later, Christopher Summers at the helm, Rachel Summers turned back to look at him from the bow where she had spent her days perched, "Father, why have you turned the ship south?"

He blinked, "I didn't."

She narrowed her eyes, "Yes, you ... oh, I see. There's a psychic barrier on the port side. It diverted you from your original path ... shift the helm to starboard and I'll guide you in."

Chevalier Bretagne focused his enhanced perceptions on the space before him. Every instinct that he had led him to believe he was heading the wrong way. It felt like sailing off the edge of the world. Finally, his head cleared, and he stared aghast at the island that rested before him. The ground below was a grey-black desert surrounded by a mountain ringwall like a lunar crater, and a mile-high tower filled the place of a central peak: it dominated one whole side of the island, more a mountain than a building, black and monstrous.

The Fourth Musketeer looked on, aghast. "I hath seen the borderlands of Hell, and they didst resemble this land before us." He placed two fingers between his lips and gave a piercing whistle. "Renoncule, to me!" From nowhere came a ghostly yellow stallion, which whickered softly as his owner mounted him.

Le Sabre, likewise, approached the stone gargoyle which stood at the prow of the ship. He placed his hands upon it and from them flowed sorcerous energy, after which the beast shook itself into motion and fluttered into the air. "Welcome back, Goliath," he said to the mobile statue, as he climbed aboard the beast.

Sybil Girl stamped her foot. "Father, you're not leaving me behind ... you raised me with a sword in my hand as soon as I was able to walk."

The Crimson Cavalier laughed. "I have many, for every occasion." He ducked into his cabin, returning with a small, light, foil which was perfect for her size. He tossed it to her and she caught it, easily.

Chevalier Bretagne scowled, but knew the girl deserved to come to her mother's aid ... if indeed she had been summoned for that purpose. "Very well then, we shall proceed. Allons Enfants de la Patrie!" he shouted as he rose again into the air. With Sybil Girl telekinetically supporting herself and the Crimson Cavalier, the quintet crossed over to the beachfront and approached the base of the tower.

As they paced around the base, speculating about the existence of an entrance, Renoncule suddenly began to snort and stamp. "Easy boy," said the Fourth Musketeer. "What do you hear?"

As if in response, from several of the craggy rocks which surrounded the tower came the defending army. They were two-legged animals: from the belly up they had the torso of a man and the head of a bull, save for long horns which stuck up and forward; from the waist down they were splay-footed satyrs.

The Crimson Cavalier struck first, pressing buttons on the hilt of his Makluan sword and projecting first energy beams with great concussive force, and then disintegrating rays, at their attackers. Chevalier Bretagne's twin epees materialised in his hands, the Fourth Musketeer drew forth his own sword and Le Sabre drew forth his battleaxe.

Several of the creatures gave great, goatlike, leaps into the air, forcing the team back against the walls of the tower. They used their horns with expert skill, displaying more than animal brute force. Renoncule's hooves and Goliath's claws joined with the humans' flashing blades as they held themselves in place under siege.

"Chevalier!" The Crimson Cavalier's sword emitted a large jet of flame, and then an electrical blast, which took down another pair of the creatures. "Go and seek out the Egg of the Phenix ... we shall cover your escape, and join you anon."

Chevalier Bretagne hovered into the air for a moment, raised his sword to his forehead in a silent salute to his companions, and then flew upwards in a spiral, circling the mile high tower as he sought an entrance.

Near the top, was a window cut into the stone, the size of a man. He entered the interior of the tower. It was dark and unornamented, rough-hewn stone as was the exterior. Down the hallway was an open door, through which was a lit room.

He walked towards it slowly, swords sweeping ahead of him, glancing at the open rooms to the right and left, which seemed long abandoned. Finally, he entered the room ... and found himself in a library.

He rested on a platform, every wall covered in shelves of books. He looked down, and saw the platform led to a staircase, which led to level after level of walkways which descended down through the mile-long interior, and every wall was filled with books. The tower was nothing but a massive library. He could scarcely imagine it.

He turned, and saw the egg, roughly six feet in diameter, set on an ornate gold platform. Its surface swam with gold light, which was the sole source of illumination in the room. Glancing up, he also saw a strange contraption: what appeared to be an ornately carved wooden box, covered in small glass spheres which appeared to be dewcatchers.

As approached the egg, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see a man cloaked in shadow. Despite the light which radiated through the room, he seemed himself to be in perpetual darkness, so Chevalier Bretagne could not discern his features. "Greetings, monsieur," said the man.

Chevalier Bretagne raised his right-hand sword in salute. "Greetings," he said warily.

"I am the Eater of Souls," said the man. He stopped, knees bent, wrist straight, left arm back, and point for Chevalier Bretagne's heart. "Your name, sir? I like to know what I'm killing."

"I am Chevalier Bretagne," he said, "the champion of my nation. I have come for the Phenix." He raised his twin swords in response.

"No doubt," said the other, and lunged into a killing stroke. Chevalier Bretagne parried, his other sword sweeping forward in an aggressive response, and found it likewise blocked.

They began a duel, shifting offense and defense, and Chevalier Bretagne found himself against the greatest swordsman he had ever encountered. His opponent's movements seemed effortless, and despite his enhanced physical abilities, he could not make headway. And then, the man began to _sing_:

"Lunge and counter and thrust,

Sing me the logic of steel!

Tell me sir, how do you feel?

Riposte and remiss if you must

In logic long known to be just."

Their blades sang accompaniment, the sounds of metal on metal filling the room. At the endings of the last two lines, the Eater of Souls stomped on the ground with his boot, as if to accentuate the rhythm. Chevalier Bretagne knew this was a common trick to distract his eye, and he did not shift his gaze from his opponent's weapon.

"Shall we argue, rebut and refute

In enthymeme clear as your eye?

Tell me, sir, why do you sigh?

Tu es fatigue, sans doute?

Then sleep while I'm counting the loot."

With the final word, his opponent's sword hooked into the hilt of his own, and his right-hand sword went flying into the air. Evidently he was expected to be distracted by the gesture, because he saw an opening and thrust his left-hand sword into his opponent's forearm. The Eater of Souls backed away for a moment. "Excellent! First blood, monsieur!" He shifted his sword to his left hand. "Let us continue!"

Chevalier Bretagne swore to himself. Despite his own ambidexterity, he was used to dueling with right-handed opponents. He expected the wound to give him an advantage, but the man he faced was as skilled with his left hand as his right, and now his own weaponry was halved.

The Eater of Souls pressed his advantage, and Chevalier Bretagne soon found himself on the defensive. A strike, and another, and he feared he would be joining Patricia Hope, when the combatants were interrupted by a sound at the entranceway. Le Sabre, the Crimson Cavalier, Sybil Girl, and the Fourth Musketeer charged into the room, bruised and battered but still whole.

The Fourth Musketeer led the charge. "Cease and desist! Chevalier, how art thou?" He turned to the Eater of Souls. "Sir, thou art outnumbered, a surrender would be no shameful thing."

"Surrender? Even to the hero of my youth?" The Eater of Souls laughed, and gestured as if to draw aside a curtain ... and the shadow was withdrawn from his features. He was an ugly man, tall and broad-shouldered; his eyes and grin were merry and proud. His most prominent feature, however, was his nose. "D'Artagnan, did you ever know me to surrender?"

"Cyrano?" The Fourth Musketeer leaped down from his steed Renoncule, and ran to embrace the other man. He turned to the others, "This man aided me in rescuing the Mystery Knight from his prison at the Mont Saint-Michel, and with me founded the original Escrimeurs' Entente, along with Captain Blood and Oliver Tressilian."

The Crimson Cavalier gave a deep bow. "Even in this day we know the name Cyrano de Bergerac. Sir, would you keep the Chevalier from his lady love?"

"Ah, he seeks an incarnation of the Phenix." He walked over and touched the Egg. The surface shimmered in response to his touch, and the Entente thought they viewed, for a moment, the form of a woman encased within.

[[Christopher, my love? Rachel, my child?]] They all heard the words in their minds, a delicate and familiar touch.

"We are here, Mother," said Sybil Girl. "We've come to take you home."

"This is her home," said Cyrano. "She is not whom you seek."

"Patricia Hope was the Phenix," said Chevalier Bretagne. "She belongs with us."

Cyrano shook his head. "The woman you speak of is long dead." His face was compassionate. "At times, the Phenix will rise from the corpse of a woman with whom she feels an affinity, take on their thoughts and memories ... and their feelings. But she is not them. She is fire, and life incarnate. I admire your dedication in your search, but sir, if you release her from the Egg you will have a facsimile, nothing more, of the woman you loved. And the pattern of death and rebirth which is part of the cycle of the ongoing creation of the universe will be broken."

Chevalier Bretagne scowled. "Are you saying that the last several months had been a lie? The woman I lay with was nothing but fakery? I was linked to her mind, I knew her thoughts."

Cyrano said, "She is life incarnate, as I said. She partakes of the souls of all lives, including your beloved."

Chevalier Bretagne walked to the Egg, slipping off one of his gloves and touching his bare fingers to its surface. "Is this true?" he enquired of the woman within. Within the Egg she swiveled to face him, and what he saw was not the face of Patricia Hope.

Slowly, ignoring the ache in his heart, he turned away.

Sybil Girl screamed, "Mother! Come home to us!" She bolted from the rest, running towards the Egg, and the figure within opened its arms as if to embrace her. The Crimson Cavalier drew his sword and it emitted a stream of gas which rendered her unconscious. She fell to the ground.

Le Sabre shook his head. "Let us leave this place, there is only pain to be found here."

Chevalier Bretagne nodded, and turned to salute his former opponent. "Perhaps you had the better of me, sir." He leaned down and picked up the unconscious form of Rachel Summers, holding her as tenderly as if he'd held her as a baby.

"It was an honor, Sir," said the Eater of Souls, once more drawing a curtain of darkness around himself.

Aboard the Blackbird, Christopher Summers lay the girl down on her bed, and then quietly left the room. "How is she," enquired Duquesne in hushed tones.

"She will be fine, I'm sure," said Chevalier Bretagne. "When she awakes, we will discuss her future ... all of them. Perhaps she will wish to return home; perhaps she will wish to join our company. And she must speak to Professor Viridian as well, clearly, about these things."

Inside the room, Rachel Summers opened her eyes. A smile was on her face. From outside, the two men did not see the flare of the firebird that danced within her small hands, illuminating the room and all within it.

* * *

All characters trademark and copyright Marvel Comics, Inc.

Thanks to Jean-Marc Lofficier for developing and naming the team (Escrimeur is the French for sword fighter and Entente could be construed as a group's name), and for recommending that I read Robert A. Heinlein's _Glory Road_.

The song "Lunge and counter and thrust" copyright the estate of Robert A. Heinlein.


End file.
